


Jesus on the Cross

by ThunderCant



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Crying, F/M, Gore, Impalement, Other, monster fucking, trans man leon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 03:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21237224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderCant/pseuds/ThunderCant
Summary: It’s only fair that the American suffers for all the trouble he’s caused





	Jesus on the Cross

**Author's Note:**

> I was really mad about thing when I wrote this, enjoy. Also bc my pal challenged me to write something less than 1500 words long.
> 
> I failed.

If Leon finds a monster he hates more than the Iron Maidens, he's going to march back into the 

ruins of Racoon City and suck off every monster he gave the title to in the past. Zombies? Pants down! Lickers? He'll french them if they don't have a cock. Trenchy? Fuck, Leon will find a way to deep throat him  _ and _ he can keep his hat on. Anything to apologise for slandering them as the worst of the worst when they had the decency of not being a fucking Iron Maiden. 

He can hear it gurgling as he reloads his rifle. It sounds distant, not that it's much comfort- the bastards have the reach of three lickers and the tenacity of Birkin. About as ugly too. 

The Iron Maiden hears him. It leaps across the room, crashing where he just was in a bloom of spikes and dented metal. Of course its momentum never bothers  _ it _ . The splinters slide out of it as it stands, twitching. Listening. 

He takes aim. He fires.

Its foul blood erupts as the first parasite dies, spikes grazing Leon's arm and Christ, he's fucked up because  _ now it knows where he is. _

"Shit-"

It screams and explodes, a fleshy frag grenade spearing him; pinning his hand to his own gun, calves and thighs spread open like a butterfly to a board, pain in the shoulder, a cut on his neck. It missed his vitals. But that doesn't matter. 

Leon tries to struggle, and all he gets is pain. The Iron Maiden sways as it comes closer, face splitting into a needle-teeth smile. Like it's happy. Like it's won a fun game of chase. Like it isn't making Leon's body spasm in agony, face cut into an awful grimace. 

God. It's making him turn back, back to the rookie in Racoon City, a hole in his shoulder and juggernaut on his tail. Except it's worse, because at least that would have been over quickly, had he been caught. Decapitated or just crushed. The Iron Maiden will kill him so slowly that he can savour his own life spilling out of him.

He cries out when it crowds him. More spikes pierce him. It's relishing this, it must be, the way that Leon can't hold his screams back.

Another two through his thigh, one in his right hand, three thin little spears slashing a nerve and  _ fuck _ , he cant help writhing, even as the pain grows like a weed. He screams, he gets spiked, he screams more, and it gurgles like a baby with a mobile. 

He feels the chill of death creep up from his toes, through his useless legs. Even the plagas inside, usually so willing to push him to join them, is quiet. 

Pinned to a wall like a child's art on display. That's how he's going to go. He coughs and his suffering becomes an exquisite flower, racing fast enough to push the world away. It's white hot. He can't think. The pain is almost orgasmic, the way it makes his toes curl and mind white-out from sheer sensation, fucking him to a deadly climax with the holes it's made. 

He can't hear, can't see, can't even breathe and it still hasn't ended him. Each cough and shudder brings it forth again, swing of a scythe, and it just won't cut.

"What do you have there, silly thing?"

The spikes pull out and Leon drops into a puddle of cold blood. The pain immediately dulls to hot coal and a deep ache. He knows there's someone else there but he can't bring himself to open his eyes. Agony is exhausting. 

Every sensation is like a knife cutting into his soft flesh. Every heartbeat a thundering step that's hopefully coming to end him. Life is leaving him as he thinks. 

There's warm hands, suddenly threading through his hair. He shivers. It lifts his aching body until he feels fabric and softness against his face, but even that's too sharp for his frayed nerves. And the Iron Maiden is still there. He can hear its rattling breaths. 

"You've done a fine job. Not a speck of damage that can't be fixed."

It keens happily. One hand leaves his head and he can only assume it's touching the Iron Maiden. He knows the voice, he's sure, but it hurts so much to even think. All he can do is float in the ocean of awful sensations. His sore body, the confusing fog over his mind, and the plagas starting to stir. It burrows between his vertebrae and he bleeds from the inside too, fresh bloom of blood-

"Shh," the voice soothes, and it  _ does _ , "be calm. For now, you have suffered quite enough. Take a moment to breathe." 

God, he doesn't want to. And yet, he wants nothing more. Whatever it's doing is making his little parasite sing in delight, pumping him full of painkillers and sedatives. 

"Let's have a better look at you." 

Thank fuck the room is dark. His eyes are prised open and suddenly he’s following a filthy finger, to and fro. It earns him a hum, sweeping purple, a gesture in the corner of his eye-

And then there’s weight on his legs, pins pushing inside like he’s a cork board and he wails. The Iron Maiden’s whole body crushes him down. If it decides to erupt now, it’ll pierce more than just his limbs. He’ll choke on his own blood. Its breath is hot enough to make his skin damp, moisture dripping down his face. More fluid to mingle beneath him. He’s going to die in a fucking swamp of his own making.

“Now now,” croons Saddler- that’s who it is, fucking  _ Saddler- _ , “She’s just excited. She won’t kill you, not while I’m here.” He pats Leon’s head, “if you relax, it will hurt less. Try to think of it as acupuncture. Something to soothe the knots out of your muscles. Who knows? Maybe she’ll give you a happy ending.”

Leon wheezes. It- or fucking  _ she-  _ rests more weight on him, more tips penetrating his soft skin. God, she sounds awful, the way her spit catches in her throat and dribbles down her split jaw, but Saddler doesn’t seem concerned at all. The bastard just chuckles at the Iron Maiden’s apparently delighted sounds, always quick to soothe when Leon tried to push through the pain and fight them off. Stroking his hair and face, tracing the lines where he’ll have black veins, sooner or later, all while the Iron Maiden drools on his shoulder. He feels her teeth scrape his skin. 

“I don’t- aah...ugh!” He can’t choke the words past the fresh hurt as she bites, teeth solid fire that tears through his muscles. His shoulder’s already fucked. She already pierced it. So why-

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Saddler muses, “she wants to love you.” 

She shifts and her spikes extend. 

Leon screeches so loud that it bounces back at him, echoing on the metal walls so that his voice is it’s own orchestra, agonised scream piercing his ears like the Iron Maiden pierces through his thighs again, through his shoulders. He can’t stop the screams spilling now, her spit and his blood melting together with the hot tears on his face. 

Saddler shushes him, coos at him and strokes the hair off his drenched face. His clothes are a patchwork of holes, only staying on because they’ve been spiked to his soft, yielding flesh. He can’t breathe. The only thing outside of pain is the pleased murmurs of his plagas.

Her arms finally curl around him. All those points digging into his sensitive ribs, and when she splays one over his chest, he gasps- catching a nipple, the other roughly ripping through his pants so she could play with his hot and sensitive cunt

Oh no. 

It had mercifully gone untouched, aside from a bit of uncomfortable chafing, and now there was a centimetre between her long, sharp, shrapnel-fingers and his tight hole. Even the slightest graze of her rough skin on his cock made him cringe, which set off new pain, and left him gasping when she started to push. 

Bumpy and bony and more than ready to cut him apart from the inside out. He’d rather die from pain than being fucked to death by this abomination.

Especially not with Saddler watching. The only bright spot in this hellscape was a red-hot poker, smiling fondly, like a shepherd to his favourite lamb. A lamb for the slaughter.

“Bitores was right, you do look adorable when you are afraid. I’m hurt. You think I would let you die now?” He chuckles, that maddening and smug little laugh that makes Leon want to slam an elbow into his face, “she will not kill you. Not on purpose. She’s simply confused.” He clicks his tongue and the Iron Maiden stops. Finally pulls out of Leon’s shoulder, leaving blood to ooze down his side. He may as well not have an arm anymore. It just hurts. “Try touching here,” he says, calmly, taking her hand and pulling it out. It’s just a temporary relief. Because he moves it to his dick instead. 

She has no finesse, and her skin feels like trying to rub one out with sandpaper, points digging into his hard nipples. Tears keep bubbling forth. 

Especially when she finds a rhythm, fast and harsh, that makes him howl. He can’t arch himself away, can’t move unless he wants to fuck himself on the spines and ruin any chance of escaping. His cock burns, sensitive and screaming at her brutal pace. It feels like she’s trying to tear it off.

He’s too weak to push her off, too weak to do anything but turn his face into Saddler’s robes and weep. He wishes he’d fought harder. Then she might have killed him outright. Then he wouldn’t be more than a shish kebab.

He can’t help tensing up. Arousal isn't Saddler’s gentle petting or the blistering pain inside him. His wounds sting with the new sweat weeping inside, while tears and wails leak out of him. 

“Relax and let go, Mr Kennedy. She just wants to make you happy.”

He’s certain the only thing she wants is a chew toy. Leon must make fun one. After all, he can't stop trembling. 

There's no more individual sensation. Everything hurts too much for him to put into words. 

It's his last thought before his poor body gives out. 

  
  


He wakes and he is not alone. He feels like he'll never be alone again. He can feel every molecule in the air, hitting his bare skin like bugs sucking his blood. Bugs burrowing into his body, through all his holes.

He isn't alone. The fabric beneath him shifts. Not purple. Still someone in his hair, and he can feel every strand hissing when it moves, like someone rubbing ground glass into his scalp. All his skin feels like a freshly-burst blister, rubbed raw. His naked skin.

“The...fuck…”

He’s cut off by muffled gurgling, wet and hot, on his shoulder. He dares to turn his head.

The Iron Maiden is right there, dribbling on him, with her split face stained red. She keens delightedly and rubs her teeth into him, scratching his face until he winces and cries out. It just makes her growl and grab him tighter, spikes starting to pierce through his cheek. Through his skull.

God, maybe she’ll finally kill him. Saddler isn’t around anymore, though who’s to say if he’s still watching, even if he must have moved Leon somewhere. Or more likely, had his little thing move him. Why would the great cult leader dirty his hand with manual labour, after all? The Iron Maiden seems happy to cling to him.

Now that he’s still, she’s happy. The points go back to just unpleasant on his sticky skin, stroking him- he suppresses every whimper and wince he can manage. He doesn’t even know why. He hurts, he’s humiliated, and it seems like Saddler wants his ass for keeping his beast happy.

So why does he keep trying to placate her? He knows she can do it. Get her angry enough and she’ll explode into spikes, will probably destroy his brain so fast he won’t feel it. The happiest ending he could have from this fucked up little session. 

But he doesn’t. He won’t. 

Not even when her clumsy hands return to his cock, ready for another round of agony. 

  
  



End file.
